Worth Waiting For
by msathenaxf
Summary: So he kissed her hand, whispered, "Break a leg," and disappeared into the crowd.  And years later, she would wish that she hadn't simply kissed his cheek, flashed a secret smile, and slipped away.


**Title:** Worth Waiting For

**Author:** msathenaxf

**Summary:** So he kissed her hand, whispered, "Break a leg," and disappeared into the crowd. And years later, she would wish that she hadn't simply kissed his cheek, flashed a secret smile, and slipped away.

**Worth Waiting For**

* * *

It's been four years since Lima. Four years since the last time they saw each other. So to meet again in a nightclub in Las Vegas was certainly nothing they were expecting.

He grinned and she laughed. She hugged him and he didn't let go. He asked about New York—because where else would she be-and she learned that he was graduating from Oregon State with monumental student loan debt. He bought her a drink. Which is when he noticed her ring.

"You're married," he stated, surprised. (Disappointed.)

She smiled softly, maybe a little sadly. "You're not," she said, returning the obvious statement.

Things were uncomfortable then, because he had wanted her since junior year, and she had wondered about it for just as long. And he could see that she was debating exactly _how much_ could stay in Vegas. He wanted to; God, he wanted to. But he had learned his lesson years ago, and knew she would hate herself and him as soon as she woke up.

So he kissed her hand, whispered, "Break a leg," and disappeared into the crowd. He doesn't remember the rest of the night, but he's happy to find that he woke up alone.

* * *

Two years later, it happened again. Boston, this time. He watched her on the dance floor, her bright eyes telling him that she's well into her night. A glance at his friends and he knew it was only the start of his.

The hoots and hollers from behind only make him walk faster. Stepping right in front of her, he pulled her to him and slipped effortlessly into the rhythm of her body.

"Fancy meeting you here, Berry," he whispered against her ear.

She shivered and pulled back to look into his eyes with a surprised smile. "Sometimes divorce deserves a celebration, Noah." His fingers tightened on her hips. (In the morning she would find bruises.)

He was about to offer condolences, but she laughed and shook her head, as if reading his mind. And he was glad she stopped him, because, well, he still wasn't a liar.

"How about you?"

He drew a sharp breath, coming back to himself. He rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly. "Um…it's my bachelor party."

She smiled at him—and it killed him to see that it was mostly genuine. "Congratulations, Noah. You deserve all the happiness in the world."

Years later, she would wish that she hadn't simply kissed his cheek, flashed a secret smile, and slipped away.

* * *

He's in the middle of another argument with his wife when the television grabs his attention. Which only prolongs the yelling, but by that point he was long past caring about whatever infraction she saw today.

"Broadway actress Rachel Berry, most recently starring in Les Miserables, was in a car accident this afternoon in New York City. For unknown reasons, a driver drifted over the median, causing a head-on collision with Ms. Berry's taxi. The cab driver was killed instantly. The cause of the crash is under investigation but New York Police say alcohol is believed to be a factor. No word yet on Ms. Berry's condition."

A newscaster on the 10:00 nightly news had just managed to punch him in the gut with a few sentences.

For a week he combed the entertainment section of the newspaper before realizing that if he wanted timely, accurate news, there was only one option. He had to go back to Lima, play nice with his mom, go to temple, and chat up her fathers. If they were even there.

His wife was none too happy about a spontaneous trip to her mother-in-law's house, and after another loud fight, opted to stay home.

Later, he would wonder if he packed so heavily because he knew he wasn't coming back.

* * *

Rachel could feel the stares. She was used to it. In Lima, in New York, people stared at Rachel Berry. She was a star. She was beautiful and talented and….

She was broken.

All that was visible to the people around her were the butterfly bandages on her cheek and forehead, the splint on three of her fingers, sling around her arm, and the cast on her leg. What they couldn't see was the completely shattered bone underneath. Or how nearly useless her left arm was. The doctors told her that with time and physical therapy, the leg would probably regain most of its strength. Her arm, though, was a different story. It would never be what it was before the accident. Usable? Yes. Broadway? Not again.

She watched her fathers praying, offering their thanks for her survival. Rachel wondered what they would say if she told them she was still undecided on the issue.

* * *

From a few rows behind and on the right, he watched her. He wasn't expecting to actually see _her_; he assumed she would still be in the hospital. In fact, he wondered why she wasn't. Obviously she wasn't in top form. The extent of her injuries frightened him; seeing all that damage in the flesh was even worse than what his imagination conjured up. It just reinforced how close she was to dying. (How close he came to never seeing her again.)

As everyone turns to leave, she remains seated, waiting for the crowd to thin out. He stays where he is, waving his mother and sister off. He watches as she does the same with her fathers, and after a quiet, animated discussion, they actually do leave her alone. They don't look happy, though, and he can't blame them.

Rachel closes her eyes and draws a deep breath. Her knuckles are white as she tries to pull herself upright. It takes a couple attempts, but she succeeds. Another glance at her fathers and he sees that they're tense, ready to spring forward any second. He guesses that her single crutch was not doctor recommended. Noah watches as she settles it under her uninjured arm, then turns toward the aisle, preparing to make the long walk.

Instead, Rachel sees him across the near empty room. She can't hold back a small smile, and he smirks in response, each of them appraising. The crazy is still there, tempered by whatever she's been dealt, especially recently. His roguish charm was still present, softened by his own life experiences.

Locking eyes across their childhood church, though, surrounded by people and family they had both run from…feeling all the things he had tried to ignore rush to the surface, Noah couldn't help but wonder if nothing had changed, or everything.

* * *

Divorce papers are served on him the day before he is supposed to head back to Boston, while standing on his mother's front porch. He stares at the words for a few minutes before it finally sinks in.

Noah's sister arrives home from work ten minutes later. She takes one look at his face and asks what his goofy smile is all about.

* * *

Rachel learns about it when they meet for dinner that night. She puts a hand on his arm and offers condolences.

Because, unlike him, she _does_ lie. He just grins back at her, because it's been years since she was able to lie to _him_.

* * *

They stay in touch after he goes back to Boston. He e-mails her because he's not a particularly vocal person. She, on the other hand, is a talker and instead of hitting 'Reply', dials his number.

It starts small, although they are both privately sure that this is more than two high school buddies reconnecting. Noah tells her how his restaurant is doing, and graduates to complaining about his staffing woes.

Rachel hates her physical therapist and tells Noah so, repeatedly. He pushes and pushes and pushes and, damn it, Rachel is _tired_. When Rachel calls one day and her voice is hoarse from crying, Noah wants to punch the guy.

But their conversations move into deeper territory relatively quickly. Rachel hears about how unreasonable his ex-wife is being and she kind of hates the woman for it. Her own divorce was quick and easy—it was walking in on him and his mistress that was hard. But they were just starting out and had nothing to fight over. Rachel wishes his wife would just let go already.

Noah is almost surprised at just _how much_ he hurts for her when he learns that the most recent specialist didn't tell her anything new. There is too much damage to the muscles and nerves in her shoulder to ever support her in dance again. Actually, this doctor is unsure if she'll regain full mobility, even with extensive rehabilitation. Noah doesn't dislike her pushy physical therapist anymore.

They never talk about what they are. They don't exchange _I love you_, or even _I miss you_. There are no pet names and they certainly never talk about what their future holds. But when he starts picturing Rachel walking around the back rooms of the restaurant, and she starts dreaming about little badass boys and girls, they are both absolutely positive that it truly is _their_ future.

They're even mostly sure that the other knows it, too.

Right now, he's in the middle of an ugly divorce, so she has to be patient. And she's not even remotely ready yet anyway; he knows she's not. All of her dreams were ripped away by a drunk driver, and she's still working through that.

But they'll wait.

* * *

Being twenty-seven in Lima, Ohio was never—_never_—part of her plan.

Rachel grows more frustrated every day. She's pulling further and further into herself and her fathers are worried. Dad wants to call a psychologist. Daddy wants to call Noah. They settle on Will Schuester.

Who makes her sit in on a glee club practice. After warm-ups, he introduces her to the students, kids ten years her junior.

She fidgets when they simply look at her. Then at Mr. Schuester. Then at the trophy case. Then back at her. Finally, as one, their gaze drifts to the stage. They ask her to sing. So she sings her heart out, which she later realizes was Mr. Schuester's goal.

Rachel's eyes burn when this year's lead hands her the sheet music for the new arrangement of Don't Stop Believing and, with a grand gesture, hands the stage over to the older woman. They wrap rehearsal with New Direction's anthem, just like always.

The students just absorb the sound of this woman's powerful voice singing words that hold such meaning for them all.

They listen because her name is on eleven different trophies in the New Directions case. They listen because she got them to Nationals twice. They feel the song more than ever because she's Rachel Berry and she's a _legend_ in that room.

In exchange, she connects to them more than she has any other audience in her life. Because she's Rachel Berry and she's _one of them_.

She manages to wait until the last student leaves before breaking down on stage, her former teacher's arms wrapped around her in a tight hug.

* * *

One of the only things he and his soon-to-be ex don't fight over is household items. Other than the table linens and silverware set that came from his great-grandmother, Noah gives it all to her. He doesn't want it.

And he knows he'll be paying off all his new stuff for years to come, but he furnishes his new apartment with gusto. He e-mails Rachel every time he looks at something new, passing on the website links to get her opinion. (Neither acknowledges why, but he knows and she hopes.) He feels vulnerable and stupid, but he even writes her when he gets a new bed frame, mattress, and sheets, wondering if she'll see the symbolism.

* * *

She feels tears pricking at her eyes when she gets that one. It's one of the only times she responds to an e-mail rather than picking up the phone.

_I think you've made a good choice_, she types out.

There. He can read into that however he wants.

* * *

Noah debates for the better part of a day whether he should respond. Finally he does, and sends her a three-word reply.

_There's no choice._

There. She can read into that how ever she wants.

* * *

Noah doesn't have to pay spousal support to his ex-wife, but he is forced to give her one of his two restaurants. Three weeks later she sells it back to him because she has no idea whatsoever how to run a restaurant. He's angry but at least she didn't gut the place.

His lawyer mails him the final divorce judgment and he's seriously considering having it framed. Instead he heads to the bank and finalizes the paperwork for his new place.

His mom can't help but ask why he needs three bedrooms. In the suburbs, no less. Noah isn't sure either.

(Except, really, he is.)

* * *

Rachel's business manager releases one last press release from the Broadway star.

"My entire life, I've worked to become a Broadway performer. But my accident has forced me to leave those dreams behind. It can't be stressed enough how much I loved every single second of my time in that life. I will be forever grateful for the short time I lived that dream, and forever humbled by the support and love of all my fans. Thank you, all of you."

* * *

The same day Rachel e-mails him a pre-release of her statement, Noah faxes her a copy of the divorce decree.

She hobbles into his restaurant three days later.

**-fin**

**Author's Note:** I seriously debated for days and days on whether to end this story here. Finally, I decided that the whole point is that they are two people who know what's coming, who know what they should have, and to end it here seems fitting. Because they—and hopefully you—know what comes next.

That's not to say I don't have some ideas…. But I'll probably save them for another story.


End file.
